


tying the knot

by LyraLV



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Red's questionable morals, Underfell Sans (Undertale), kustard - Freeform, tree thievery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 00:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/pseuds/LyraLV
Summary: Sans learns that Red’s bark is just as bad as his bite.





	tying the knot

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [ain't this the life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319578) by [nilchance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance). 

> A discord ATTL prompt that turned into a silly drabble. Enjoy the sappiness!

When Sans got the text from Red, he should have known better than to show any hint of curiosity. Red has this habit of luring out the inquisitive side of Sans, baiting him with only crumbs of information and details that don’t quite tell the full story but are suggestive of something worth Sans’s time and interest. The worst part is that Red knows Sans knows, and he keeps employing the same tactic to then sit back and watch in amusement as Sans inevitably toddles after him. It’s a game at this point, but Sans isn’t even sure either of them are really losing. Red has a habit of turning each curiosity into a win-win situation for the both of them. He also has an ego the size of Edge’s dick, which Sans has heard in great poetic detail is rather large. 

(Ok, so maybe he just spends a fair amount of time thinking about it himself. The heated looks Edge gives him and the faint lingering touches haven’t exactly helped defuse the moments they share in one another’s company.)

Regardless, it‘s become a habit to just go along with whatever new scheme Red has concocted. So, as soon as Sans saw the text that said “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he should have done the reasonably smart thing and chucked his phone into the nearest swimming pool. The issue lies in the eternal constant that Sans has never once been reasonably smart in his life. Not when it comes to things involving Red.

Before he could stop the traitorous tapping of his fingers, he’d sent back the text, “oh?” and it had developed into a landslide from there.

To be fair, the cryptic texts from Red have usually led to something fun, sometimes in bed, sometimes on the nearest available flat surface. In all the times Sans has indulged him though, there has never once been any mention of work listed in the fine print.

Sans should have known his lucky streak would one day run dry.

“You didn’t even have a second tree in your backyard two days ago. Do I want to know where it came from?”

“Unless you wanna be my accessory, then no,” Red calls over his shoulder next to said tree. It’s an oak or a maple. Sans doesn’t know. A tree is a tree is a tree. This one looks pretty illegal though, like it‘s been snatched up and replanted in the suspicious chunk of earth that is fraught with overturned dirt. It honestly looks like someone scooped up the tree, roots and all, and deposited it in the quiet sanctity of Red’s backyard. Sans doesn’t even know how Red managed it, and he can’t deny the part of himself that’s impressed at this level of commitment. Edge is going to flip his shit when he comes home. Assuming he hasn’t already laid eyes on the evidence of Red’s crime.

“No one’s gonna miss it,” Red says with the conviction of a man who knows those are the least reassuring words Sans will ever hear. “Was gonna be chopped down anyways. The parks and recreation department lost the battle to keep the city from expanding on the park’s plot. Now, there’s going to be a firm taking up half the space of the park. And this baby,” he pats the tree trunk, “was in the line of fire. I’m just doing my civic duty here by protecting the little guy.”

“Little?” Sans echoes incredulously.

“A little big,” Red amends. “It’ll serve its purpose though.”

“Have you let Edge in on your “civic duty” yet? Or is this just another thing you’ll let him stumble across?”

Red turns and grins at him. “If you’re looking to be caught in those crosshairs, honey, you’re more than welcome to stick around for the show.”

“Pass,” Sans says with less assurance than he should. The corner of Red’s grin hitches even higher. “I’ll watch from the safety of my own rooftop, considering I’ll still be able to see the tree from there.”

Red rolls his eyes. “Drama queen. It ain’t that big. Now, come over here and gimme a hand. It’ll only take twenty minutes to set up.”

Sans is no drama queen, but he obeys Red’s request out of the kindness of his heart. The tree absolutely looms over them as he gets closer, and he cranes his neck to see the top of its branches in vain. Someone is going to pitch a fight if those branches aren’t trimmed soon. The damn thing nearly fans across the neighboring backyard. Good thing Edge and Red don’t have any next door neighbors, but it’s the principle of the matter.

He looks back at the unopened project propped innocently against the trunk. It’s the reason why Red dragged him out here in the first place with the innocuous text. At some point within the past month, Red got it into his head that he wanted a hammock, and not the ones that hang from a metal stand. He’d shot that idea down as soon as Sans suggested it. Sans had retorted by saying that Red could just give up on the idealistic dream of having an au naturel hammock then. Red and Edge only owned one (legal) tree, after all, though it was much to Edge’s chagrin at this point. The cats have more than once claimed it as their own playground. Either that, or they enjoy mocking the pitiable sharp skeleton that isn’t tall enough to lift them from the higher branches as he glares up at them, hands on his hips. (Sans may or may not have snuck a picture of that. It was too much of a perfect addition for his encrypted photo album to go to waste). 

Cats and shenanigans aside, Sans shouldn’t have underestimated the intrigued gleam in Red’s eyelights when he’d brought up the issue of him owning only one tree. It’s possible that those very words have damned Sans to becoming an accomplice to tree thievery.

So here they are now—a thief and an instigator. This is not what Sans wanted to go to jail for, but fuck it, he’s committed now. He crouches down and looks over the box with interest.

“How long did you spend agonizing over the perfect hammock?”

“Long enough to make sure it’d support any advanced swinging,” Red says with a waggle of his brows. Sans ignores that because he’s not even remotely interested in fucking in broad daylight where anyone could see, no matter the tall fence surrounding the backyard. Nope, not even a little interested. He continues to ignore Red harder as he tilts the box to inspect it.

“And you actually expect me to help you set it up?” he asks. He doesn’t want to give Red any ideas about this whole “being put to work” thing turning into a recurring theme.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Red returns with the smugness of the smuggest bastard to ever smug. 

Sans opens his mouth to say that he’d been led on to expect something more, but the words catch in his throat the moment he feels Red at his back, clever hands curling over his shoulders and tugging him back the smallest degree. Red’s grin sits right next to his face.

“I’ll make it up to you afterwards,” he singsongs.

“In the hammock?” Sans scoffs. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not gonna be the one to get a concussion from falling off the side.”

“If you don’t wanna, hey, that’s fine with me.” Red shrugs nonchalantly in a way that’s not nonchalant at all. “I was gonna say you could have another turn and all, but if you’re not interested...”

Sans knocks Red’s wandering hands off. “It’s my turn again anyways, asshole. That’s how turns work. Pick a better bargaining chip.”

“Is it?” Red asks. He hums, feigning uncertainty. “Could’ve sworn you’d had yours already. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t enjoyed it all the other times when I have my way with you. Someone just purchased a box of latex gloves if I recall correctly.”

Sans’s mouth wells with traitorous spit even as a tiny burst of heat curls in his pelvis with interest.

He swallows and says, “Sounds like something I’d choose for my own turn, not yours.”

“Yeah, but I get to pick what I want to do with mine, don’t I? That’s how this thing works.” Red gives him a mocking pat on the cheek. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’d get something out of it too, sweetheart.”

That’s hardly the issue here, but Sans isn’t going to bother mentioning it. He clears his throat.

“Just twenty minutes, you say?”

“Yup,” Red says. “There’s even time to relax on the hammock afterwards before the boss gets home.”

The idea does have its merit. Sans weighs the burden of doing some menial work with the prospect of enjoying the rest of a lazy evening with Red. He feels one of Red’s hands slide ever so close to the neck of his t-shirt where bare bone peeks through. The teasing brush of Red’s thumb along Sans’s collarbone is familiar. With that final simple touch, Sans responds like Pavlov’s dogs as he sighs and caves.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Let’s just make a whole night of doing whatever the fuck you want.”

Red laughs with delight. “Oh, baby, I thought you’d never ask.” He stands up, leaning his full weight against Sans to push himself up because he’s a dick. The sound of his spine cracking and the groan of contentment that follows forces Sans to try even harder to ignore the heat stirring between his legs, demanding attention.

Red’s shadow falls further over his stooped form, and he looks up at the smarmy asshole smirking down at him.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s tie this thing up so I can show you my net worth.”

Sans rolls his eyes even as he laughs.


End file.
